Akaela (14 page)

I grab his
arms and squeeze. “You’ve got to believe me, Uli. I’m telling the truth. Athel
never meant to steal from you. All we wanted to do was save Dad and the other
Ambassadors. And now Wes lost his leg and his open wound will kill him if you
don’t help us.”

“Ok,” Uli
says, nodding. “Ok. I will help you. Wes will be ok. I promise.”

He cups my
face in his wide metal hand and I exhale a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I
whisper. I expect him to release my face and sprint into action. Instead he
keeps staring at me, his fingers—the ones made of flesh—slowly
sliding toward the back of my neck.

I sense
something and try to react, but by the time the impulse travels from my brain
to my body, it’s already too late.

Uli
presses my deactivation switch and puts me out.

Chapter Nineteen

Akaela

I see lights. They dance before my
eyes like shapeless ghosts. I can’t move and I can’t see anything but the
dancing lights. There seems to be only black emptiness around me, waves of
nothing lapping at my arms and legs.

Where am I
?

I must be
dreaming, and yet in the nothingness I’m floating in, I soon realize that’s
impossible.

I’ve been put out
, I
suddenly remember with unexpected sharpness. I can’t tell by whom or why, but I
know, in the deep recesses of my brain, that I’ve been put out. And therefore I
cannot be dreaming. I can’t be doing anything at all, locked into a vegetative
state until someone decides to bring me back.

I try to
move my arms, but they feel like dead weights around me. No sound comes out of
my throat.

So then it’s true. I’m out.

But I’m thinking.

Or maybe dreaming
.

I’m so
aware of my condition that I want to scream.

Could I be
a prisoner inside my own mind? Something went wrong when they put me out. Maybe
the nanoelectric wiring installed in my nervous system was faulty and it failed
to affect my brain.

If that’s
true, I’m doomed. I can’t talk, I can’t scream, I can’t do anything but think.

What am I
?

“You’re
special, Akaela.”

I startle,
the voice so clear in my head I want to turn and see where it came from.

“You’re
very much special.”

Dad
? I say. Or think.
Because I can’t hear my own voice.
I just see the lights
dance and mock me with their subtle movements.
But Dad’s
voice—
that
I hear.
Loud and clear.

“Akaela!”
he calls. And gradually the dancing lights take the shape of his familiar face,
the broad jaw, the wide nostrils,
the
decisive brows.
His features are blurred,
though,
floating in this
non-space I’m in, this emptiness that feels soft on my skin.

Dad. Is that you
?

He looks
at me with sad eyes. “You’re in danger, Akaela. I wish I could save you. I did
all I could. It’s up to you, now.”

I frown.
What are you saying, Dad? I’m not in danger.
I—I just don’t know where I am
.

“You’ve
been deactivated,” he says, his voice assertive. Definitive.

I think of
shaking my head, the void I’m floating in just a gentle breeze caressing my
face.
That’s impossible, Dad. How come I
see you, then? How can I talk to you if I’ve been put out
?

“You’re
special, Akaela,” he repeats. I feel annoyed. Even though he’s made of blurred
lights dancing before my eyes, Dad is starting to sound like a broken record. I
want him to stop talking. I want him to throw his arms around me and hug me
because I haven’t hugged him in a long time. My heart aches, as though I know
deep inside that Dad is far away, not here talking to me.

And this
is just a dream.

Just
a long, weird dream.

“You’re
not dreaming,” Dad says. “But you have to wake up. Fast, before it’s too late.
If you’re seeing me now it’s because you’re in danger.” His eyes glaze over and
squint, as he always does when looking at the date stamp on his retinas. “Today
is May 5, 2204, and you are six years old. You’re sleeping, and when you wake
up, you’ll be excited by a new enhancement: the retractable sail I’ve installed
between your shoulder blades.”

He looks
back at me, his eyes sad again. “So you’ll be able to fly, Akaela. Escape,
should you need
to.
Because what you don’t know is
that your new enhancements are far more than just a hang glider that will allow
you to soar in the sky. I installed a technology that many among the Mayake
people wish they had.” He looks down, lowers his voice. “That many Mayakes
would kill for.”

I startle
and for the first time feel a jolt down my spine.

What are you talking about, Dad? The Mayakes
would never kill one another. The Mayakes
—

 
 
A bitter taste fills my mouth, the sudden
awareness that what I just said isn’t true. I’ve been hurt before, by the
Mayakes. I just can’t remember by whom right now, my memories stored away and
unreachable to me.

If only I could remember
…

I have
this deep sense of longing, yet I can’t remember what it is that I long for.

So I listen
to Dad’s smooth voice as he speaks to me, to his sleeping six-year-old child,
waiting to awake with a brand new toy to play with—my very own wings.

I remember that
, I
suddenly realize.

The day I
got my sail, Dad held my hands, ran, and made me glide above his head.

Remember that, Dad
?

But Dad
isn’t listening to me. He looks away, following his own thoughts.

“All
Mayake people have nanobots installed in their tissues. They replicate with our
cells, the nanoelectric wiring deeply embedded in every limb, every organ,
every neuron of each one of us,” Dad says. “A technology so scary that it comes
with a built-in deactivation switch. We all have one, a safety measure imposed
after the riots of 2110, when a handful of A.I. killed thousands of people in
Astraca.”

I already know that, Dad
.

“Yet the
Mayake people shall never be free as long as they carry a deactivation switch,
the price they have to pay in exchange for a life they couldn’t otherwise have.
Until you came around, Akaela.”

Me
?

“What I’ve
installed in your brain is a powerful tool, my child, one that could be
devastating in the wrong hands. But I had
a
once-in-a-lifetime
chance and I snagged it. I stole the Gaijins’ prototype and decided to give it
to you, Akaela, because I knew I wouldn’t be around much longer to protect you.
In fact, if you’re seeing this recorded message, I may no longer exist.”

A recorded message?

The sharp
jolt of pain comes back and pierces through my chest. Every time the pain
strikes, I become more aware of my body, of the space around me. I can now hear
my breathing, slow and shallow.

No, Dad, no
! I try to scream, though
no sound comes out of me.
What are you
saying? How can I see you if you’re not real? How can I even dream of you if
I’m deactivated
?

“You have
Li-air batteries, the most advanced technology available these days. Most of us
have to recharge every few months. Yours can last years.”

I frown
and the muscles on my face scrunch with anger.
That’s why I never feel like I need recharging!

“Your mom
and I made a decision when you were little. We agreed not to tell anyone about
your batteries. That’s why we still make you recharge every so often, like
everyone else. But that’s not all, Akaela.” He looks down as though searching
through his pockets, and then his hand emerges through the hologram to show me
a tiny, transparent chip.

“This,”
Dad says, holding the chip between thumb and forefinger, “is what makes you so
special.
DBSE, or deep brain stimulation electrode, a paper-thin
brain implant inserted at the base of your skull.
This is where I’m
recording this message right now. The DBSE has the power to overwrite whatever
stimuli come from your regular control panel, including the deactivation switch.”

I stare at
the transparent strip of plastic he’s holding. Green parallel lines
form jagged
networks over its shiny surface. My hands and
legs start to tingle, yet when I try to flex them, it’s as though my brain
can’t find them.

Why
? I ask.
Why the implant, why me
?

Dad’s hand
blurs back into the dancing lights. He looks stern now, like when I was little
and I knew I’d done something that disappointed him.

What’s wrong Dad
?

“The DBSE
can override your outdated implants. It can bring back your consciousness and
restore your normal functions. But the will to do it—that very first
impulse—has to come from you. You can override your own implants. You can
do it, my child. You
will
do it.”

How can I be seeing ‘this message’? Where are
you, Dad? Where are we
?

The
features of his face start dissolving.

Dad! Wait! Don’t go
!

The pain
comes back and jolts straight through my heart.

No, Dad. Please don’t go
.

His voice
echoes in my head, his face melting into a million wavering lights. “Wake up,
Akaela. You have to wake up.”

Wake up. How?
From what
?

My body
aches. The floating sensation gradually gives way to something else, a hard
surface I’m lying on. It’s cold and I find myself shivering.

Wake up, Akaela. Wake up
.

The
dancing lights turn darker and dimmer. They flicker in my vision as though I’m
about to faint.

Where am I? Why am I dreaming
?

Dad said
I’ve been deactivated.
By whom?
I try to remember and
the effort itself is painful. No, it’s not the
strain,
it’s the memories that are painful. They’re lodged somewhere deep inside my
skull. I can almost visualize them, a bright red blob pulsing between the
crevices of my brain. And then, right beneath one of the folds, I see the
electrode, the deep brain stimulator Dad told me about.

Wake up. The electrode can wake me up
.

I’m in
danger. Something bad happened to me, something hurtful. I see the glistening
of metal shine before my eyes. A boy. A boy wanted to hurt me so bad it was
worse than killing me. And then somebody saved me. Somebody kind, somebody who
was there to protect me,
to
…

Uli
.

Uli put me
out.

The jolt
strikes me again and this time my whole body hurts.

Chapter Twenty

Akaela

It’s pitch dark. I blink and see
nothing. I blink and my eyelids feel so heavy I struggle to keep them open. I
shiver, the surface I’m lying on hard and cold.

I can feel it.

I’m awake
.

I’m no longer
floating in the black nothingness. I have fingers, toes, arms,
legs
. I can move them but it takes an incredible effort.
Even to think requires effort.

I just want to go back to sleep
.

My feet
and legs are naked. I’m wearing something that feels thin and rough on my skin,
like a paper gown. A red light blinks by my side. It casts an eerie glow on the
machine around it. Dials. Knobs. A cable.
An LED indicator
with numbers that keep rising.
Eighty-eight-point-five. Eighty-nine.

My head
spins. I’m extremely weak, as though all my energy is being drained from me,
sucked away from—

Ninety-one-point-three
.

I raise my
left hand and the act itself seems herculean, my own arm weighing a ton on me.
I drag my fingers over to my right arm and trail them down to my control panel,
its cold metal hidden beneath my skin. I find it, the jacks and switches
exposed. I grope for the TCB port and find a cable plugged in.

A cable
…

The
machine with the red blinking light is a TBC, a transcutaneous battery charger.

I’m recharging. Uli put me out so I could
recharge and I just awakened myself
.

But if I’m recharging, why am I so
—

My
thoughts trail off. A wave of dizziness seizes me. I roll over and gag, the
strain leaving me completely wiped. My eyes stray back to the TBC, its blinking
red light showing me the world in flashes.

Ninety-three-point-nine
.

The cable
snakes from the flap on my forearm back to the machine, the numbers on its
indicator growing.

The
realization catches me unprepared.

I’m not recharging
.

It takes
me ten long seconds to pull myself up. I grab the TBC and roll it closer,
groping for the switches at the back. My head is spinning, my stomach lurching.
I’ve seen the dials before. Dad taught me. Green switch up, red down: charging.
Green down, red up: discharging.

And that’s
how I find the switches at the back of the TBC.
Green down,
red up.

The TBC is
not juicing me up. It’s taking the juice away from me.

I cling to
the machine and collect my last drop of energy to push down the red switch. The
counter stops at ninety-eight-point-two.

Now the green one.

You can do it, Akaela. Come on
.

My energy
level is at less than two percent. I grip the machine and collect the very last
of my forces to pull up a switch that would normally take the flick of a finger
to move. And as soon as I flip it, I drop back on the hard table I’m lying on
and exhale. The counter on the LED display drops to 1.5, my current energy
level. I close my eyes and breathe, juice flowing back into me. The surge of
nausea slowly passes, the buzz in my head fades. Lucidity strikes me.

I wasn’t recharging.

Uli put me out to kill me
.

I spring
my eyes open. It’s still dark, the blinking light on the TBC now green instead
of red. I press the inside of my wrist and check the time.
Three forty-five a.m
.—the middle of the night.

Where am I
?

I’m not
sitting in one of the recharging stations in Uli’s workshop. I’m lying on a
hard surface, a stainless steel table, I realize, brushing my hands along the
sides. Could I be in the auditorium? Did Uli give me up to the Kiva Members and
they executed the Niwang without even giving me a chance to defend myself?

I hold my
breath and listen for noises, steps,
voices
.

A pipe
clangs through the walls, a board squeaks—familiar sounds. I’m inside the
Tower. The LED display reads sixteen percent now—still not enough for me
to yank the cable off and run. I can’t risk it, yet every minute I spend lying
on this table brings me closer to being found and caught, this time for good.

I hear
muffled thuds, coming closer.

Steps
.

A
key in a lock, a door that opens.
A sliver of
light, then the click of a switch.
A surgical light goes off over my
face. I squeeze my eyes closed, forcing myself not to move. Even with my eyes
shut, the light is so strong it makes my lids twitch. I curse myself for being
unable to hold still.

Somebody
enters the room, just one person, judging from the steps and the lack of
dialogue. The door closes, metal instruments rattle on a hard surface. The
noises come from somewhere to my right. I take a chance and open my eyes,
turning slightly toward the noises.

Uli
.

I
recognize him even though he’s got his back toward me. He’s standing by a
stainless steel sink, all garbed in a surgical gown, face shield, and blue
sterile gloves. Sprawled across the counter
is
my
broken sail, the nylon slashed and the aluminum frame crooked and broken. A
painful memory resurfaces.

I was attacked last night
!

I arch my
shoulder blades and feel the emptiness between them. Is Uli preparing surgery
to reattach my sail? But if so… why was I discharging instead of recharging?

I’m
tempted to sit up and tell Uli he made a mistake. Instead of fixing me, he
almost killed me, and if it weren’t for Dad’s message …

Dad’s
voice rings in my head:
You’re in danger,
Akaela
.

I’ve installed technology that many Mayakes
would kill for
.

Uli is so
focused in his task he doesn’t realize I’m watching him from the corner of one
eye. He lifts the lid of the sterilizing machine and takes out a set of clamps,
scalpels and forceps. He lines them up on a surgical tray, ordering them from
smallest to largest, almost religiously. He stares at his orderly tray without
moving, as though upset by something. He walks to a nearby cabinet and opens
several doors until he appears to have found what he was looking for.

A Stryker saw.

I blink.

A Stryker saw
?

A chill
travels down my spine. As hard as I try, I can’t think of any good reason why
Uli would need a Stryker saw to reinstall my gliding sail.

Uli
adjusts the facemask over his mouth, lowers his face shield, and rolls the cart
over to the table where I’m lying. I shut my eyes and don’t move. The cart
stops. I hold my breath and hear nothing. No rolling cart, no clinking of
instruments against a stainless steel tray.

Uli.

A brother to our father, an uncle
to us.

Uli would never want to hurt me.

It’s impossible.

A
couple more steps.
The squeaking of gloves against
metal.

He’s noticed the charger
.

The
flick of a switch flipping.

He’s
inverted the TBC again. I can immediately feel it as juice starts draining from
me. And this time I don’t stop to ponder his intentions. I’m still weak, but
the quest for survival fuels my strength: I yank the cable from my arm, roll
under the table, and push the cart of instruments against Uli.

“Holy
Kawa!” he yells, stumbling back and yanking the cart away. It rattles against
the wall and turns over, the instruments skidding in all directions across the
floor. I snag a scalpel by my feet and point it at Uli.

“You tried
to discharge me,” I say, gritting my teeth. “
Twice
. Once could be a mistake. Not twice.”

His lips
stretch into a calculating smile. This is not the Uli I’ve known throughout my
life. This is a hateful, hideous Uli who’s determined to kill me. He grabs the
Stryker saw from where he left it on the counter and squeezes the handle,
making the blade swirl and grind the air.

“Don’t
even think of getting away from me, child.”

I’m
cornered, only the stainless steel table standing between the two of us. The
scalpel I’m holding looks completely useless compared to the Stryker saw Uli is
brandishing. He sniggers and pushes the table toward me. I step backward and
bump into a metal cabinet propped against the wall.

“Why are
you doing this?” I shout over the grinding sound of the saw.
 

I read
spite in his eyes.

“For years
I’ve run on second-hand batteries and old technology just so you people could
have the very best out there. Guess what? It’s over. No new technology is being
developed. It’s time for me to get back what has always been mine from the
beginning.”

“My
implants and nanobots do not belong to you,” I retort. “Dad installed them.”

“Well,
Dad’s not here to help you now, is he?”

I swallow.
Uli grabs the edge of the table with his prosthetic hand and gives it one more
push toward me. I slide around the file cabinet and knock it over against the
table. The top drawer rolls off its hinges, slides over the table and slams
against Uli’s chest. He drops the Stryker saw and staggers backward. In the few
seconds it takes him to recover, I manage to push the table away and run for the
door.

The
hallway is dark, this part of the Tower unfamiliar to me. It smells damp and
moldy.

“Come
back!” Uli storms through the door and charges after me, his legs longer and
stronger than mine.

There are
no windows, only small nightlights installed above the baseboards. The walls
are raw and unfinished, the cement mottled with green patches of mold.

Basement! I’m in the basement
, I
realize.

I bolt
down the corridor, desperately looking for the fire door to the stairs, an
exit, anything. Uli stomps after me, the thudding of his heavy boots getting
closer and closer.

There are
old, rusty carts lined along the wall. I grab one and push it back toward him,
but it’s a useless strategy. He lets it roll past him and then charges back,
gaining ground on me. I slam against every door that looks like a fire exit
until I find the one at the end of what looks like a dead end. I breathe a sigh
of
relief
as the door swings open and dart up the
stairs, my steps echoing through the stairwells.

“Help!” I
yell, hoping my screams will awaken somebody. “Please! Somebody help!”

I’m out of
breath, out of energy. Uli devours the steps three at a time and is soon on me.
He grabs me by the hair and shoves me down. I slam against the wall and roll
all the way back down to the landing.

I wipe the
blood trickling down my lips and gaze straight into his angry eyes. “How can
you do this to me? Dad trusts you,” I snarl.

He smirks
at that. “Your father can’t help you anymore.”

He leans
over and wraps his metal fingers around my neck. I uselessly dig my fingernails
in the rubber lining of his prosthetic arm and flail my legs at him. His
forehead is pearled with sweat, his eyes polluted with rage.

How could
I have thought this man to be my friend?

I wheeze,
his fingers closing around my throat. “You won’t get away with this! When Dad
comes back—”

 
“Your father? Come back?” He laughs and
slams me against the wall. “You don’t get it, do you? Your father won’t be
coming back. He’s gone forever.”

His flesh
hand slides behind my neck, looking for my deactivation switch. To no avail I
pound my fists against his prosthetic arm. His fingers reach the switch and
press it, yet I keep flailing my legs and pounding my fists. A pang of
disbelief crosses his face.

“You—you’re
not—the switch isn’t working!”

In that
one moment of vulnerability he relaxes his arm enough for me to jab my foot
into his stomach. He doubles over and lets go of me, but as soon as I scramble
back to my feet, he catches me again. He shoves me to the ground and pins me
down, the edges of the stairs jammed against my ribs.

“I
will—”

“Uli.”

The voice
is deep and reaches us from above, somewhere up on a higher landing. I know
that voice.
Tahari
.

Uli keeps
his weight on me and looks up. “I caught this traitor, Tahari. I’m sure you’ll
appreciate my efforts.”

I hear
nothing, and then Tahari’s slow and deliberate footfalls coming down the
stairs. “What should we do about her, Uli?” he asks.